There was no reply save the cold, hollow, hundred-tongued echo of his own words.
Jeffrey looked down at his outstretched hands. They were holding the faded photograph and the shining stone, offering them to the silence.
Outside, the city was like a merry-go-round whirling faster and faster. Music had swelled to a dizzying crescendo. Colors were brighter in the noon sunlight. Voices were louder, prayers stronger.
"Ten to one they don't make it," said a rat-faced man. "I'll take all bets."
"They will not be alone," the solemn man in the black robe intoned to his congregation. "For yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...."
"Why must Daddy go up into the sky, Mama? Why?" asked the child.
"He's going to be a pioneer, dear. He's going to be one of the first to go to the moon."
"But why, Mama? Why?"
The bearded man shouted, "The wrath of God will fall upon us and upon our children and our children's children. Man was not meant—"